In Vino Veritas (In Wine Is Truth)
by richfamous
Summary: Crowley dumps a very drunk Halt on Pauline's doorstep. What is she going to do? Set before the Ruins of Gorlan. Mainly drunken songs, sarcastic one-liners and Crowley's inability to just 'let it happen naturally' which will no doubt lead to it happening most unnaturally.
1. In Vino Veritas

In Vino Veritas (In Wine is Truth)

Pauline had almost drifted to sleep in her chair, the legal documents slowly slipping through her fingers and onto the floor, when a few harsh knocks on her door made her sit up. She stared at the door for a few moments, wondering who could be up at this time of night. _Or morning more like it._ Checking that the small knife she always kept handy was in its place she called out, "Who is it?"

"Crowley!" She frowned, rising from her seat and walking briskly over to the door. He sounded as though he'd just run a marathon and, knowing what the Rangers did, he probably had. But what news could he have for her?

She pushed the door open and said, "Wh-oh." The question died on her lips as she took in the sight before her.

Crowley was leaning against the door, his trademark grin spreading over his slightly reddened face as his best friend lolled against the wall, a half-asleep frown on his face, as though he was trying to focus on something very far away.

Pauline collected her wits and said, "Why?"

Crowley shrugged. "We'd just taken down one of the toughest smugglers in the history of Araluen. We decided we'd celebrate. Turns out that the brandy was that little bit too strong for him."

"Thanks for the explanation, Ranger," said Pauline, "but what I really want to know is why he gets dumped on _my_ doorstep." She liked Halt a lot, maybe more than was good for her, as her mother would tell her, but she wasn't so sure that she wanted to have to deal with drunken Halt.

"Well you –" Crowley's explanation was cut short by Halt suddenly returning to the land of the living and bursting into song.

"She's blood, flesh and bones/not made of earth and stone/she's touch, smell, taste and sound –"

"Please tell me his sober singing voice is better than his inebriated one," said Pauline.

Crowley frowned at her. "Come on, woman. The poor bloke's flattering you and the best you can do is criticise his singing!"

"Wait, he's talking about me?" Pauline asked.

"Of course. You. The one he goes doe-eyed over every time you walk past. I think he described you pretty well."

Pauline fixed Crowley with a stern glare that would have made her grandmother proud. "The one thing more ill-bred than flirting in a lady's bedroom doorway is using your drunken friend's singing for said flirting."

"Maybe I'm –"

Crowley never got to finish whatever witty remark he had in store, for Halt, who had gone momentarily silent, burst into song again, this time at increased volume. Pauline and Crowley exchanged a glance and Pauline instantly fell into a crouch in front of the Ranger. "Halt!" she exclaimed, giving him an experimental punch in the shoulder. He instantly stopped singing and stared at her confusedly, like puppy does when you pretend to throw the ball and it suddenly doesn't understand life anymore.

"Halt," she said, resisting the urge to pull away at the smell of alcohol in his breath, "you're very drunk. So, stop singing like a drunken sailor and –"

"Way-hay and up she rises! Way-hay and up she rises! Way-hay and up she rises, early in the morning!"

The explosion of lyrics made her physically fall backwards. "Well," she said drily, getting to her feet, "if way-hay is code for my heart rate, yes that is quite adequate, considering our situation. Come on, Halt, we need to get you to bed before someone else finds you." She sat down beside him and slid an arm under his and pulling one of his around her waist. Then, seeing Crowley leaning in her doorway and shaking with suppressed laughter, "Come on, take his other side! You're the one who got him drunk. I'm not carrying him into my bedroom alone." Crowley's laughter suddenly became very real and very loud. "Drat, did I just say that out loud!"

"Imagine that!" exclaimed Crowley, finally taking Halt by his other arm and helping. "The great Lady DuLacy, inviting a man into her chambers! What would your mother say, my dear?"

"She'd say I should give you a punch in your overly large mouth but since my hands are rather occupied I'm afraid I'll have to abstain. Now come on, let's get him out of here before one of the maids sees us and gets the wrong idea!"

"Don't worry about that," said Crowley, as they both tried to lift their drunken companion from the floor; "I already saw one disappearing around a corner when you announced that you were bringing a man into your room."

Pauline fixed him with her coldest stare. "I will kill you, Crowley."

Crowley shrugged. "That's what comes of living in a castle. There are always people to see and hear."

They had almost managed to drag Halt through the door together when, seemingly triggered by the fact that her heart rate had returned to normal, his drunken sub-conscious decided to dredge up the part of some other song from him.

"You would not believe your eyes, how a voice could hypnotise/how her songs could end your cries, my Loreley/In a shade of mossy green, seashell in her hand /She was born the river queen, ne'er to grace the land! Oh, the stories we were told /Quite a vision to behold/ Mysteries of the seas in her eyes of gold – hang on!"

The urgency and sobriety in his tone made both of them stop in their tracks, turning to face him. He stared very hard at Pauline, as if he was trying to figure out something important. Finally he said, "Your eyes are blue. That doesn't work!"

Pauline rolled her eyes and continued trying to drag him through the doorway. For such a small man he sure weighed a lot. "If you're thinking of dropping him on the floor, don't," said Crowley, "because right now you're the only thing between me and dying of laughter."

"Actually I'm rather flattered," said Pauline, trying not to let him see that she was blushing slightly. "I've never been called a river queen before."

"Pity about your eyes." Halt's comment came so suddenly it made both of them jump. "But you do smell nice."

"I better," said Pauline, dumping him on her couch. "That perfume cost an arm and a leg."

"Really? Whose?" Halt asked, frowning confusedly.

Pauline rolled her eyes and said, "Halt, let go of my waist."

"Don't want to," he said groggily, burying his face in the folds of her dressing gown.

Pauline glanced up at Crowley, silently pleading for help. "Just wriggle out of it," he said.

"I can't," said Pauline, trying to pry Halt's fingers loose from the silk folds.

"Sure you can," said Crowley. "Just undo the tie at the front and shrug it over your shoulders –"

"Crowley!" said Pauline, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. "How do I put this delicately? When I put this on I was under the impression that I would not be seeing anyone for the night so I did not put on the necessary _attire_ that would be needed for me to 'wriggle out' with dignity."

Crowley blinked at her for a minute before saying, "Forgive me if I get this wrong but are you trying to tell me that this particularly beautiful nightgown is the only piece of clothing you have on?"

"Don't say a word," said Pauline. "Now help get him off me."

"Of course," said Crowley. Leaning down next to Halt he whispered, "Blackroot."

In the blink of an eye, Halt had released her and knocked her flying by rolling off the couch and onto the floor where he lay, blinking up at them in confusion.

"What on earth is 'blackroot' supposed to mean?" Pauline asked, scrambling to her feet and tightening the tie of her dressing gown.

"It's a danger signal in the corps. Everyone has to drop what they're doing and get onto the ground as fast as they can."

"Wonderful," said Pauline. "Now, Crowley, I have a box of medical supplies in my room. There's a broth or something that you're supposed to give drunk people. Find out what the book says and make it."

"As you wish, madam," said Crowley, disappearing into her room with a grin.

Pauline knelt down beside Halt, sitting him up so that his head was in her lap. "You're an idiot," she told him, pushing his hair out of his face. "You shouldn't let Crowley make you drink that much."

"Sh!"

He had wanted to put his finger on her lips to shut her up but he missed and instead ended up with one finger hovering in the air.

"Says the man who was singing fit to wake a snoring Skandian," Pauline retorted.

"Ssshh!"

"That finger really is taking on a life of its own isn't it."

"Sssh. You're in the way of my thinking," he told her seriously.

"Well we wouldn't want that," she said, stroking his hair.

 _What on earth are you doing?_

 _He's not going to remember anything in the morning. It can't hurt to be a little sentimental._

"You're very …" – he thought about it for a while before saying – "sweet. Sweeter than wine. Or cake."

"Well I'm glad you think that," said Pauline, subconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Some lords in the council might disagree with you on that point."

"Only because they're sour," Halt pointed out. But he sounded sleepier now and his eyelids were beginning to droop. "Haven't got a clue … You're like a cat."

"Wonderful," said Pauline. "First I'm an alcohol beverage. Now I'm a domestic animal." Then, seeing the slightly accusing look in his eyes, "I'm sorry, go on."

"You're like a cat. They think … they can make you stay and do what they want … but you go and do what you want. You're … free … inde-indep-pen."

"Independent," Pauline supplied, taking pity on his brain's faulty connection with his mouth.

"That," said Halt.

"I don't know," said Pauline. "Being independent can get tiring sometimes. It doesn't hurt to have support. Sometimes being … less independent can help."

"Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to propose," said Halt blearily.

"Of course, dear," said Pauline. _He really has got to be so drunk_. "When the time's right you can propose all you like."

"Good," he said, eyes closing over again. A silence stretched out, during which Pauline continued to stroke his hair, wondering if she could one day force him to get it cut properly. Then, just before he nodded off, Halt grabbed her hand and said, all his words seeming to become part of each other, "I remember the rest of the song!"

"Not now, Halt," said Pauline. "You can sing it to me some other time." _When you don't sound like a rooster being slowly strangled._

"It's a nice song," he mumbled. "It's about a very beautiful woman. Just like you …"

When Crowley came back five minutes later he found both of them asleep, Halt's head still resting in Pauline's lap and Pauline leaning against the couch, dead to the world. For a few moments Crowley stood in the doorway, considering summoning the royal painter but in the end settling for pulling a spare sheet of paper from Pauline's desk (much neater than his own) and attacked it with a charcoal-nibbed pencil. In a matter of minutes he had managed to capture the scene and then hastily hid it in his pocket for future use. Maybe he could get it framed. Or use it to humiliate Halt sometime at a Ranger gathering. That would be fun.

"Crowley, what are you doing?" Pauline asked, stirring slightly.

"Just watching," said Crowley innocently.

"And that doesn't sound stalkerish at all. Help me get him to bed," sighed Pauline, stretching her stiffened joints. "It should be easier now he's conked out."

"So I made that broth for nothing," Crowley muttered as they dragged the unconscious Halt into Pauline's bedroom and dumped him on the bed.

Pauline quickly took off his cloak and boots, before hoisting him onto the bed. "Aren't you going to undress him properly?" Crowley asked.

"Not on your life," Pauline snapped. "Now I think it's time for you to find somewhere to sleep."

"You know what the maids'll say if he stays the night," he warned her, gesturing towards Halt as he lay snoring on top of her bed covers.

"I also know what they'll say if you also stay the night. Get out," she said, finally unpinning her hair and getting ready to go to bed in earnest.

"Sure you don't need help? I can make up those floorboards to be pretty comfortable if you like," Crowley offered, gesturing towards her sitting room floor.

"Oh, I'm sleeping in the bed," said Pauline. "I'm not going to be reduced to living the life of a tramp just because some Ranger doesn't know how to hold his liquor!"

"Are you sure that's wise, considering the circumstances?" Crowley asked, barely suppressing a grin.

"The circumstances are that I sleep with a dagger within easy grasp and that I have a big bed. Good night."

"You do know that one of the lines in 'Drunken Sailor' specifically instructs you to 'put him him in the bed with the captain's daughter' -" began Crowley, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He retreated quickly when Pauline picked up a knife from her dressing table and threw it at his head.

 **I have an idea for writing the second and third chapter but only if you're interested. Review or PM if you want it continued.**

 **Now, acknowledgement. My thanks to Tal Bachman, the Irish Rovers, Blackmore's Night and my Uncle whose over-fondness for whiskey and my Aunt put together resulted in me learning all three of the songs that I referenced and twisted to suit this little one-shot. Hope you like it! :)**


	2. Rude Awakening

Rude Awakening

Halt was terrified. He hadn't a clue where he was. The room smelled different from his cabin. There was a woody note to it, but it was more exotic than simple oak and pine. Other scents mingled with it as well. Faint, flowery and pleasant but definitely not familiar.

The bed didn't feel right either. The sheets were too smooth, the mattress was too soft and … there was an added feeling of warmth that had made him wonder if he'd been given a hot water bottle.

He could barely see anything in the dark. He was facing a wall and on it he could make out a dressing table, with various small flasks and jars and other women's things littered – wait.

 _Women's things!?_

Now his panic levels had rocketed sky-high. Slowly he rolled over, hoping and praying to every god he knew (quite a few). But apparently all the gods of every religion had decided to go on a joint holiday and never bothered to at least keep their secretaries on call.

It might be dark and he might have a pounding headache and blurred vision but that didn't stop him from seeing the figure that was curled up into a ball within touching distance underneath the sheets. He immediately recognised her. Long strands of copper-coloured hair tumbled everywhere but her face, her skin glowing pale and smooth in the dark. She was smiling slightly as she slept, as though she'd been inwardly laughing at something just as she fell asleep.

 _Good Lord, even asleep she looks elegant!_

 _Focus!_

In his head he was running through the various different ways that he could have ended up here. The last he remembered had been Crowley and him laughing. At what he hadn't a clue. But it had been funny. Or at least he had thought so at the time. No, now that he tried to count how many flagons he'd had, he began to seriously doubt that whatever they had been laughing at was funny.

 _But that still doesn't explain why you're here! In **Pauline's** bed!_

That last thought was extremely disconcerting and more than a little terrifying. If it wasn't for his splitting headache (honestly, it was like the devil himself was trying to drill a hole between his eyes) he would have screamed, "WHAT HAVE I DONE?!" at the ceiling. Oh, it would also wake Pauline. And he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

The logical side of his brain tried desperately to formulate a reason for him being in her bed that would not have shame oozing out of his ears. But for the life of him he couldn't remember anything. Maybe he had just blacked out. But if he had blacked out he would now be collapsed in a puddle of of some animal's business in a soggy side street and robbed of every penny he owned. He could not help but think that that situation was infinitely preferable to the one he found himself in now. (Although the silk sheets were something he could get used to.)

There was really only one logical conclusion. _But I'm not that kind of man! Crowley might be if you plied him with enough ale but not **me**!_

 _Well what else might you be doing in a lady's bed, you idiot!_

 _At least it's a **lady's** bed. You could do worse. Much worse._

 _Now is not the time to be a snob!_

With a groan that made him wince in pain, Halt tried for the millionth time to clear his sleep and hangover clogged head. He could remember, thirty years ago, when he was just six, when he and his sister, Caitlyn, had been playing hide and seek in the corners of the castle and he had seen his father sneaking up from the kitchens. When he was that age he hadn't known why his father had looked so guilty when the pair saw him or why Caitlyn (three years older than him) had tightened her lips when she saw her father or why their mother had been so angry with their father after that. He did later, of course, and he had despised him for it, as much as a son can despise his father, but he had never thought he had been guilty of the same thing.

 _Oh well, at least you're not married._

It was that annoying voice inside him that was always trying to get him to see the positive side of things.

 _Shut up!_

 _Alright, if you wont' listen to Positiveness maybe you'll listen to Logic._

 _If you really did ... ahem ... do something no noble man would do, drunk or otherwise -_

 _Enough of the guilt trip! Just tell me the plan!_

 _Alright, alright, no need to get testy with me! Honestly!_

 _You wonder why I hate you so much._

 _Do you want my opinion or not?_

 _Fine._

 _Let's assume you did, for a moment. If you did, neither of you is likely to have clothes on._

 _Oh, don't!_

 _Grow up, would you? It's simple._

He was relieved to be find that he was still fully clothed, apart from his boots and his cloak.

 _She mightn't have clothes on._

 _Is your name Logic or Perversion?_

 _Just a thought. Might want to check._

 _Shut up! (_ _And by the way, you're getting a name change.)_

Still, he glanced over and was even more relieved to see the edge of a silken nightgown peeking out from under Pauline's blanket. Though it was sort of slipping off and he could see her shoulder. Her skin was so smooth, so pale, that he was tempted to reach out and touch it.

 _Quite enough of that line of thought. You've probably embarrassed yourself enough in her presence last night._

 _But why was I even in her presence last night? And we still don't know why I'm in her bloody bed!_

 _Calm down, calm down. Now, try to remember._

 _That's all you've got?_

 _Well what d'you expect me to do? Look in a crystal ball?_

So he tried, and tried, and tried, until he could literally feel his head splitting in two and sunlight was beginning to filter in through the windows. What he came up with only made him feel worse. He had vague impressions of extremely drunken singing which her sincerely hoped had not been him but, judging by his luck probably was.

 _You know, most men would definitely not be complaining if they were in your situation. Not everyone can boast of waking up next to a beautiful girl after a night spent drinking._

 _What in the words 'shut up' do you not understand?_

After that everything seemed to blur even further. He remembered her eyes, her voice, soft, gentle and the feeling of silk grasped in his hand.

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up! SILK?_

His head instantly spun round (too fast) to look back at Pauline. After about five minutes during which he groaned and internally cursed God, his parents, Crowley, wine and fate in general he was able to look. Yes, curse his luck, her dressing gown was made of silk.

So, for the first time in ten years, Halt swore out loud. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, before collapsing back onto the bed.

Fate was out to get him.

A stirring next to him reminded him just how tricky this situation was. Self-loathing (and maybe strangling Crowley) could wait for later. Right now, he had to figure out how to get out without being seen or heard.

 _How's that going to help? It still makes you guilty of adultery and you'll still see her after this._

 _Yes, but I'd rather make my apologies in a slightly more proper place than her bedroom!_

 _After what you appear to have done, I don't see why proper should be a problem._

 _I swear, if you don't shut up ..._

Slowly he slid the covers back and stood up without a sound. Seeing his cloak flung over a chair, hastily pulled it on and picked up his boots, moving for the door.

"Isn't it a bit early for that?" He fairly jumped out of his skin, spinning round to face her. She was sitting up in bed, looking rested and somewhat pleased with herself, something he definitely was not. Seeing that he appeared to be struck dumb, she said, "Everyone knows that a gentleman waits until at least dawn before sneaking out."

"How do you know that?" Halt asked, not knowing whether to be reassured or beyond terrified by her smile. Did he really have the right to be jealous of any other ... ahem ... companions she might have had in the past? If anything he probably had less right now than he normally did.

"Doesn't matter," said Pauline, waving her hand. "Point is, now is way too early to be Rangering about the place and I was kind of getting used to having a hot water bottle."

Curiosity getting the better of him, Halt asked, "Just to be clear, could you tell me why I'm here?"

"Certainly," said Pauline, smiling a little more. _I'd love to._

"In your sitting room, maybe?" suggested Halt, when she showed no sign of moving from her position on the bed.

"No can do, the maids can hear from there."

"Maids?"

"Yes," she said. "Anna and Mary-Louise were listening at the door last I checked. By now that number's probably doubled."

Cursing under his breath, Halt, who had the door of her bedroom partly opened, hastily closed it. Putting down his cloak and boots he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her. Pauline, seeing his worried expression and not able to resist teasing him just a little more, said, "There's no need to look so glum about it, Halt. Judging by what you said last night, you can't object to this room that much."

Just as she had expected, Halt's dark eyes instantly grew wide. She heard a slight shaking in his voice as he tentatively asked, "And ... what exactly _happened_ last night?"

Keeping a perfectly straight face, Pauline said, "Well, Crowley brought in at some ungodly hour, drunk and singing fit to make a deaf man cry. We brought you in here and you refused to let go of me and then fell asleep."

"And?"

"I took you in here."

"And?"

He was so adorable when he was panicked.

"You slept."

"And?"

"Then you woke up, spent a while cursing yourself and tried to creep out and now we're having this conversation." Unable to resist - "Do you find that somehow scandalous, Ranger Halt?"

"Not yet I don't," said Halt. While Pauline was comfortably sitting on her side of the bed, a small smile playing across her face, he was still perched on the very edge, as though about to take flight in a moment. "What exactly did I say?"

"Well, you didn't _say_ very much. Most of it was singing. You seemed to object to the fact that my eye colour did not correlate in any way with the description in your song and you sang another song which instructs the listener to 'put him in the bed with the captain's daughter'. You also told me I smelled nice, compared me to a siren who lures fishermen to their untimely deaths, told me I was beautiful and that it was your job to do the proposing, all of that not necessarily in the order I said."

"Oh no." His head was literally in his hands. He couldn't look at her. He'd done _all that_. She must think him an utter fool who, when drink loosened his tongue, went around complementing any woman he saw. And even if she did see his ramblings for what they were, the truth, she would still think him round the bend.

"I know," she said. "Beautiful might be too strong a word, don't you think?"

"Not particularly." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, inwardly cursing himself. _Oh well, what do you have to lose?_

There was a brief pause, during which his heart rate reached an all time high, and then she said, "Halt, would you do me the pleasure of actually looking me in the eye while we have this conversation?"

Sighing laboriously, he turned around, sitting down properly, and faced her. She was still smiling, he noticed. But it wasn't a cruel smile. It was slightly amused but mostly she just looked pleased, who with, he had no clue. "Halt," she said, folding her hands over her knees and straightening her shoulders the way she did when she was going to explain something to someone, "when Crowley brought you in here, I knew that you had a room all to yourself in the opposite wing."

Halt blinked at her. "So you ... knew you ..."

"Didn't have to take you in," Pauline finished, smile wide and dazzling. "I acted as though I didn't know and Crowley bought it. It's not like I take every drunken man I come across into my apartments, let alone my bed and I would like to think that you wouldn't think that of me. Most of them I wouldn't trust to come near me. But I trusted you. And I wanted to see what you'd do when you saw me. Needless to say, I was rather surprised by the ... cacophonies that you came up with."

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, ever wary.

Pauline stared at him a moment before saying, "Halt, I may have given you the impression that I like you. That I am fond of you. That is wrong."

His head, which had raised just a fraction, in anticipation at her response, dropped instantly. Pauline, with forwardness that would have had her grandmother turning in her grave, scooted forward and took one of his hands in hers, making him raise his dark eyes to look at her, confused. Leaning forward she whispered in his ear, "I love you."

Listening outside the window, it was all Crowley could do not to let out a whoop of victory. Finally! After eight years! He was a genius!

 **Sooo, after positive input, I decided to extend this one-shot. I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated. I have basically had work thrown at me until I'm within an inch of my life. Hope you like this!**

 **Anyway, funny story for you people who can be bothered to read down this far. When I was on holiday after my first year of university and staying with my family, my Uncle came home drunker than Bacchus. So we put him and my Aunt to bed, she dyed her hair black and changed into underwear that no aunt should own at her age, and when he woke up in the morning he saw a woman he didn't recognise in the same bed as him. The poor fellow was beyond mortified. I know, my family are lovely. As my brother said to my then boyfriend, "That's what we'll do to you if you marry my sister." For some reason I got dumped two weeks later ... hmmm. ;)**

 **Next chapter up soon (hopefully). More hilarity!**


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